Stolen
by TooMuchToTake
Summary: Five years after graduation, after the defeat of Lord Voldemort, an invitationonly grand farewell will change everything. UST,WIP


Stolen

Hermione leaned against the white-washed stone walls. Her heart beat fast from dancing, and she felt light-headed, the crisp night air blazed in her throat as she breathed in great gulps of it. The grounds were beautiful in the fading sunlight, and from a trellis-topped veranda that ran the length of the building, she watched the sun set through the trees. Crimson and gold leaves fell around her, and most where caught by the tangled grape vines overhead, but some trickled through onto the dark porch floorboards. A long leaf-covered lawn dappled with trees extended out until it hit the forest and lost its nerve. There, the auburn of autumn sank into cool shadow beneath the trees. Hermione wondered what it would be like to run through those woods, that impenetrable shade washing over her.

The wind blew into her face, and the door, which she had left ajar, creaked shut. She turned to look at it, aghast, then decided she could just knock when she wanted to go back in. She brought her hands to her cheeks, feeling the cool skin and the warmth hidden somewhere underneath, and sighed. She walked forward, her heels making hollow clopping sounds that echoed slightly, and leaned her elbows on the railings. The black wrought iron was ice cold, and sheer ribbons wound between them, accented with tiny bouquets of red and peach flowers. Hermione's brown eyes caught stretches of yellow light and shone in the dying day. The chilly air whipped her dress around her legs and the railings, and the evening smelled of dusty dead leaves and the scented candles from inside the ballroom.

The party was in full swing, and many voices slipped between the cracks in the French doors to reach her ears. The band was taking a break. She decided she needed a drink. When she twirled around to go back inside, she was greeted with the sheepish grin of her fiancé. His violently orange hair swirled about on the top of his head in the wind, and wisps of her own hair fell from their loose bun to tickle her nose and catch in her eyelashes.

"How long have you been standing there?" She gathered the fly-aways from her face and tucked them behind her ear.

"A minute or so," and he closed the distance between them, taking her into his arms. She smiled and let him kiss her cheek. She felt his hands on her mid-back through the bodice of her taffeta dress. She bent her head and kissed his neck, nuzzling the skin there before his dress robes obscured his shoulders and chest. "It's lonely in there. Are you coming in, or are you going to hide out here all night?"

"I've just come outside. Where have you been?" He entwined his fingers in hers, and she peered at him through the twilight. His eyes were sparkling, but she could tell he was tired. "I don't like having a ghost date, Ronald." He gave her his best please-can-we-not-argue-about-this-now look. "I know, I know. Yes, ok, I'll come in." He grinned broadly and she couldn't help but smile back. Hermione leaned on his shoulder as they turned and made to walk into the ballroom together, but just then one of Ron's staff skidded into view at the door.

"Mr. Weasley, sir, we've had a crisis at the Ministry that requires your attention." Ron's face fell.

"I've only just gotten here. What could possibly have happened in the five minutes I've been gone?"

"A small group of the insurgents…" His voice trailed off, and he looked pointedly at Hermione. "Sir…"

"It's alright, Darren."

"…of the insurgents have vandalized the front entrance phone booth. The culprits have been apprehended, but we need your approval for punishment, sir."

Ron shrugged his shoulders exasperatedly. "I suppose," he said, letting go of Hermione's hand, "that I'll have to go. I'm sorry, dear. You'll have to carry on without me." Hermione must have looked as though she did not like this idea very much because he added quickly, "I'll make it up to you, Hermione, I promise." There was a pause, during which Darren started looking desperate, then Hermione nodded, attaching a feeble smile to her lips.

"I knew there were downsides to marrying the Minister of Magic. Come back if you can." They kissed briefly, and he squeezed her hand before hurrying off through the dance floor then out the front entrance on the other side.

Hermione shivered and followed their footsteps inside, the bracing night air at her back, the sun below the horizon.

Draco finished fastening the last button of his dress robes. He wondered how many people were already congregating in his ballroom, and slowed down even more. Regretting volunteering his mansion for the festivities, Draco listened to the sounds of clinking classes and music and chit-chat and felt the knot in his stomach tighten yet again. Out side of his window, the wind had plastered a leaf to the glass and it slid silently down the pane until it buckled and flew from view. The sky was dark now, and he figured he couldn't hold out for much longer. After one last look in the mirror, he crossed to his door and headed to the ball.

They had outdone themselves this time. It was bright and smelled like nutmeg and the end of summer. He could tell it was a nippy night, but warmth radiated around the people milling around in dress robes and gowns, and everyone seemed to be having a good time. There was a lengthy table piled high with hors d'overies and finger foods, a splendid fountain he was sure gushed with punch, and high-backed chairs lining a wall. Many of these seats were filled by chatting ladies with long dresses and sparkling jewelry. At the end of the dance floor was a small stage one which a five-piece band was striking up again. All four of the chandeliers overhead had been draped with yards and yards of sheer bronze and copper fabrics. This had a muting effect on the light, and gave the room the glow of a perpetual sunset.

Draco took the grand stairs down to the party slowly, spying on all of the people. Everyone was here to celebrate the annual Fall Ball, the only gala the Ministry threw every year in honor of their efforts during the war. This was the fifth year, the first one held outside of the Ministry since there were so many attendees. From his perch above the party-goers, Draco thought the women looked like flowers whirling wildly on the dance floor, and even the men seemed graceful.

Then he spotted her, a woman in a red calf-length dress, dancing alone. Well, that was not fair, she was with a group of people, but no one was dancing with her. Her honey-brown hair shone exquisitely in its messy knot, and much of it hung down in wavy wisps. The dress cinched in a bodice around her waist then hung loosely, swirling up a little as she spun around in cherry red high heels. Her smile was painfully beautiful. Her gaze fell on him, and her deep brown eyes held him, drew him in. Just then someone walked in front of her and the spell was broken. He felt different, though, changed, as though his heat was beating somewhere in the region of his Adam's apple. He needed to get to her.

Draco found the ballroom floor with his feet, leaving the stairs behind, and crossed the dance floor to her. She stopped dancing and looked up into his face. It was Hermione Granger. She was beautiful. God, she was beautiful. How could someone change so much?

"Hello," she said in a honeyed voice, as if she knew something he didn't.

"Hello." Draco couldn't take his eyes away from her. She smiled again, then, just for him, and he thought he could have done anything, anything at all.

"Do you dance, Draco?" Before he could say a word she had taken his hand and guided him away from her friends. She began to sway. The song changed a moment later, and the tempo dropped. A slow song. Her delicate fingers were in his, and her cheek was against his chest before he knew what was happening. Her hair smelled like cinnamon-steeped apples, and it was silk tickling his chin and jaw. He could feel heat pulsing from her.

They finished the song, and Hermione thanked him. She was walking back to her group when Draco caught her hand in his. She turned back to him, smiling. "Would you like to go for a walk?"

"Yes." Her eyes were impossibly engaging, soft and mysterious. He led her now, and she followed smoothly as his side. They were outside before he knew where they were going, strolling along the veranda, leaving billowing up behind them in the cool night air.

They talked, too, about their jobs and lives. He had not seen her since graduation. They had been in the Daily Prophet at the same time, even in the same article, but always in separate pictures. They talked about the war, about Harry, then about Ron.

"You're engaged?" Draco's brow furrowed, his blonde hair stubbornly falling into his face again.

"Witch Weekly had a fit." They both laughed. It was laughable, all right. She was too beautiful, too different, no longer Hermione, and yet, it seemed wrong for someone like her to be married. He told her so.

"Like me?"

"Yeah, Hermione Granger, book-worm extraordinaire. I remember you bossy. I remember when you punched me."

"That was a long time ago." She looked far away, smiling faintly. "I remember you called me all sorts of names."

"You used to call me ferret."

"You used to call me mudblood."

"I'm sorry about that." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. He didn't like where this was going. He didn't like his past; he'd been a prick. Draco steered the conversation back to Weasley. "Do you love him?"

"Of course I love him!" He watched her out of the corner of his eye, she was not smiling now.

"Do you love him?" She stopped walking. They had reached the end of the terrace.

"He loves me."

Draco turned to face her. "I feel something with you, Hermione. Something happened to me when I saw you tonight." She looked sad, but didn't move away when he enfolded her in his arms. She put her head against his shoulder. "I'm sorry for everything I ever did to you." She nodded into his shoulder, as if she was excepting a heavy burden.

"I didn't mean for this to happen. He loves me, Draco." Draco let her go, and she took a few steps back. "He loves me. I'm going to marry him."

"You can't tell me you didn't feel something." Her eyes were endless brown hollows, and he stared and stared.

"I can't leave him. He needs me. I don't even know you. We were childhood enemies, that's all." She placed a kiss on his cheek, then made as if to back away, but Draco held her to him. She was so soft, so warm in the windy night. Hermione gazed into his gray eyes, and he stared back for a long moment, then he let her go. She turned and ran lightly back to the side door casting light onto the darkened porch, her heels making hollow clomping noises as she went. He dress trailed behind her in the wind. She was beautiful.

She felt his eyes on her the rest of the night. It was two in the morning before she left, and she was one of the last to go. She did not say goodbye to Draco, her stomach could not have taken it.

"Oz," she whispered to her front door. Hermione had bewitched it to work on a password just like the portraits at Hogwarts, but without the personalities and egocentricities. Still, it reminded her of the old days, and as the door swung in silently, she remembered how many times she had crawled through the portrait hole of the Fat Lady, how many passwords had gone by over the course of her seven years at Hogwarts. She smiled to herself and stepped inside.

The living room was lit with a single lamp, and next to it, Ron was dozing in a chair. Papers had fallen from his hand to his lap, and some had even slipped onto the floor or under the coffee table. She crossed to him, and bent to gather up the papers.

Ron started, jumping in his seat at the sound of the rustling. "Those are confidential!" he shouted, snatching them from her hands. He straightened out the papers, tapping them on his thighs to line up the edges, staring at Hermione in half-asleep disbelief. "You know you can't-"

"-And I wasn't, Ronald. I was just picking them up for you." She stood up and turned her back on him. "Lighten up. I'm going to bed." The bedroom door opened angrily and slammed behind her. She pointed her wand at the chest of drawers and raised a nightgown from one of the drawers. It followed her into the bathroom and laid itself out on the counter. She magiced the zipper of her gown down. It slithered over her backbone on its way to her mid-back, exposing soft, tanned skin. She shimmied the deep red taffeta over her head, and it crinkled and sighed even as she directed it back into the closet. Hermione took a shower, brushed her teeth, and returned to the bedroom. He wasn't there. 'He's never there,' she thought maliciously.

Hermione crawled between the clean cool sheets, letting the cream-colored sheets engulf her. A few minutes later she heard the front door slam shut.

The next morning, when Ron still wasn't home, Hermione set to looking for him. He didn't do this often, not often enough for the Daily Prophet to notice anyway, but she knew where to look anyway. She apparated to the Ministry, just outside the Minister of Magic's office. The secretary didn't look up. "He's not here."

"Oh yes, he is," Hermione said, and the secretary looked up.

"Good morning, ma'am, what a pleasant surprise." Hermione nodded. "Well, to my knowledge, no one has been in or out of there since I got here at eight this morning."

Hermione pursed her lips, then said, "I'm going to have a look anyhow." She flung the door open. There was a sleeping Ron, a shot glass and a bottle of something she could smell from the doorway sitting on the desk. Behind him, a quidditch cup and a house cup stood like sentinels in their shelves. Other awards and framed pieces of paper dotted the room, but these gleaming testaments to his success at Hogwarts stood out.

"Ron!" He didn't move, but let out a half-hearted groan. "Ron, wake up!" Hermione stuck her head out of the door and told the secretary that Ron had come here last night to get in some extra work and fallen asleep before shutting the office door much more calmly than she felt.

Ron was stirring as she walked over to him. He picked his face up off of the desk top; on one side, his cheek and jaw were shiny with drool. The flush of his cheeks clashed badly with his hair. Looking terrible, Ron scooted back his plush desk chair and made to stand. He failed miserably, and slumped back into the leather cushions groggily.

"Ron, you are embarrassing. I don't know why I bother, except that it would eat at me to see something like this appear in the papers, so here…" She performed a charm for his hang-over, and he blinked furiously, as if he had an unusual amount of sleep in his eyes.

"Thank you," he grumbled.

"Now, you have a meeting Minerva today, so buck up! This is the last time I do this for you." She kissed him on the drool-less cheek and strode from the room, vanishing the offending glass and bottle on her way out.

She decided to nip over to see Harry at the auror office before going to work. Of course she could be late to work if she wanted, being the director of St. Mungo's. She took the lift down two floors and strolled down a busy hallway.

"Hermione!" The voice was decidedly un-Harry-like. She turned to see who it had been and was surprised to see Draco standing in front of her.

"Hello," she said, almost reluctantly.

"What are you doing here?"

"Visiting Harry."

"Should have known. Listen, he's out at the moment, but I'll walk you to his office. You can wait for him there." They began walking, people rushing past them every few seconds.

Hermione did not like the sound of waiting around for Harry alone in an unknown place for an undisclosed amount of time. "Do you have an office?"

Draco looked taken aback. "Next door to Harry." They arrived at his office, and he tapped the doorknob. Hermione heard a chinking of locks, then watched the door swing open to reveal a small but comfortable looking room. As they stepped inside, she noticed the deep green accents and dark wood shelves covered in books. A stretch of wall was covered in pictures of fugitive Death Eaters and a huge map with tiny pins stuck into it.

This was the most interesting office she'd ever been in. There was no window, not that it mattered about windows in an underground building, but the simple lighting fixture above her seemed to be emitting natural light. The desk was piled with interesting items, but she didn't want to intrude. Then she remembered whose office she was in and turned to face him.

Draco was smiling strangely down at her. "Have a seat." She stood still. "Hermione, I'm not going to bite." She didn't move.

"I can't stay long. I have to get to St. Mungo's before noon."

"Really? Well, it's only just ten o'clock, Hermione, you've got plenty of time." He took a step toward her, and she wondered why she wasn't feeling more uncomfortable. "How's the Minister?" His smile broadened, then faltered when her face fell noticeably. "What's the matter? Trouble in paradise?" She didn't answer, but looked down. "Jesus, sorry. I didn't mean to bring anything up…"

"It's alright. I should go."

He stuck out an arm and caught her as she tried to walk past him. "Stay, Hermione. We can talk about it." He drew her in, his arm around her waist.

"I don't want to talk about it," she whispered as she brought a hand to the back of his neck, drawing him down into a kiss. Draco, however surprised, responded in kind, brushing her lips lightly with his own. She pressed against him, deepening the kisses, and her mouth opened to permit him entrance. She could feel his warm body against hers, feel his tongue exploring her mouth and his eyes watching her.

As if on cue, someone knocked loudly on the door. "Malfoy, are you in there?" It was Harry. Draco took his time ending the kiss, his gray eyes storming as they gazed into her own.

"What do you need, Potter?" His voice was suddenly harsh.

"Do you have that report on Nott?"

"Working on it. Hey, come in, Potter. This yelling through the door is completely pointless." Draco and Hermione stepped apart as Harry entered.

"What are you doing here, 'Mione?"


End file.
